


Re-Write the Stars

by LadyBaratheon



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Circus, Gay, M/M, The Greatest Showman, but it's not like bad and it's not for v. long, the greatest showman au, there's some homophobia, trapeze artist yuuri, victor except it's spelt viktor, viktor is charming i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBaratheon/pseuds/LadyBaratheon
Summary: -- You join me and it won’t matter what people say about you, what your father thinks of you. You can love whoever you want. --Prince Aleksandr Viktor Nikiforov – play-write, charmer and one of the most eligible bachelors in Detroit, with a well connected father and talented younger brother, any women would be lucky to have him. It’s a shame women aren’t what he’s after.Viktor enjoys his life, it may have been swarmed with rumour of his various proclivities but with vodka, parties and plays, how could it get much better. But when he’s convinced to attend the circus, when he sees him he realises what life could be.-- (I’m bad at summaries, basically it’s an AU of The Greatest Showman) --





	Re-Write the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Heey guys! I hope you enjoy this! I don't have any betas/proof readers so if there are any mistakes please feel free to point them out! (bc I am bad at proofreading) the same goes for things that don't make sense
> 
> I was gonna wait until I'd finished a few more chapters until I posted this but I was impatient and needed validation (it is planned though so please don't let me forget about this!)
> 
>  
> 
> (also I promise that Yuuri is in this chapter!)

_Yuri,_

_My love,_

_I can only hope that one day you will one day understand my actions, and if by miracle grant me forgiveness for them._

_It has been weeks since our goodbye, yet even now, I lay awake at night and all I see is you. I yearn for you. I fear that you will forever haunt me, and yet, even more so, I fear that one day you won’t. Then I will have truly lost you._

_You hang in my dreams, like an angel soaring through the air - one sent to torment and torture with his grace. It reminds me of the first night I saw you. Flying. I have never loved Celestino more for insisting I attend that night, and I have never hated him more for our introduction. After my first glance, I knew immediately I would need to see you again. You made me release a breath that I didn’t even know I had been holding, and it felt as though I could never take another until I was in your arms._

_I would re-write the stars for you Yuri, but I fear theirs is one language I do not speak._

_Yours forever,_

_Vitya_

_***_

Viktor woke to the soft sound of rain pattering against the window pane. Rousing with a stretch, the silk bed sheets brushed delicately against his skin as they creased around him. Viktor was acutely aware of the warm body that lay beside him, a stark contrast to the grey, cold city that laid beyond the window.

 

He pulled his head from the pillow, resting it on his hand. He peered up at Christophe, his light blonde hair tousled from sleep, and _other_ ‘activities’ _._ He was currently sat, his back leaning against the head board. The sheets pooling deliciously around his hips as a lit cigarette hung precariously from his lips reading to fall any moment. He leafed through pages of handwritten notes. He hadn’t noticed Viktor wake, too engrossed is whatever he was reading. Viktor squinted closer, noticing the hand writing through the paper.

 

‘Is that mine?’ Viktor said, a slight annoyance in his tone. Chris had been a good friend for a long time, since they were children shipped away to boarding school. They had discovered themselves together, in more than one way. He knew how much Viktor hated his unfinished plays being read. Nothing could be seen unless it was perfect.

 

‘It’s good,’ Christophe said, peering over the top of the manuscript. Viktor lent forwards snatching it from his hands, a disgruntled crease appearing on his forehead. He would dismiss the _‘good’_ as Chris’s grasp on English and not as an insult.

 

‘It’s not finished yet,’ he said, folding the now creased papers and tucking them safely into the bedside drawer, before slamming it closed.

 

‘I do enjoy it when you return to Detroit,’ Chris said with a laugh, crossing his arms across his bare chest. He bit his lip, staring at Viktor’s half covered body, ‘it’s so boring without you here, and I don’t just mean without your plays,’. He finished the sentence with a pout of mock coyness, but the devilish intention in his eyes betrayed him.  

 

It was a casual relationship; it had been since it started. A way to release and relax in a world that would otherwise condemn people like them.

 

‘I doubt I’ll be here for long,’ he replied, ignoring Chris’ attempts at a recreation of the night before. He stared of into the mid-distance, letting his vision go out of focus. He used to enjoy Detroit. He had gone to boarding school not far from here and re-acquainting himself with old school friends was always fun, re-acquainting himself with Chris was far more so of course. Not to mention Detroit’s lively theatre scene could keep him entertained for weeks. _But there was always a catch._

 

 ‘Father insisted that I come for Yuri’s ballet performance this evening, he’s a star on the rise apparently,’ Viktor said with an eye roll.  

 

_His father_. Prince Kruchinkin Yakov Nikiforov. _Yakov._ A short, bullish man whose face was perpetually red from anger. He had moved to America shortly after Viktor had been born, seeking money and enterprise, an industrial revolution that Russia was far behind on. He missed it though, the homeland. Missed the high esteem he had in the Tsar’s court, often reminiscing about the lavish balls and parties of St Petersburg.

 

His father adored Yuri, his younger brother. Adored the fame and prestige that came from raising a world class ballet dancer. He had hoped the same would happen for Viktor but injury at age 17 had killed the dancer within him, it had however birthed the play-write. Yakov was yet to attend one of Viktor’s plays.

 

Viktor loathed Yuri’s recitals, even when he was a boy each one only served to inflate his brother’s ego further. Yakov had been asking Viktor to attend for over a year now, no doubt to set him up with some old friend’s daughter and finally make an honorable husband of him. He usually turned him down, preferring to distance himself from his family. This time was different however, even with the wealth that came from play writing Viktor had found himself deep in monetary troubles. Apparently drinking and partying his way across Europe had drained his accounts, not to mention the lavish apartments and gifts he had bestowed upon his many ‘companions’ during his travels. His father would sort out his debts of course, he always did, this time it just came with a catch.  

 

‘I’ve seen Yuri perform, he’s amazing,’. Was that’s Chris’ attempt to pull Viktor from thoughts of his family? ‘maybe he’ll tell Yakov to fuck off as well and join the circus,’ he laughed.

 

Viktor turned towards him. A puzzled look appearing on his face as he cocked his head to the side.

 

‘The circus?’ He saw Chris’ eyes begin to widen in surprise.

 

‘C. Cialdini’s Circus,’ he threw out casually, gauging Viktor’s reaction. When he stayed silent, Chris continued. ‘Oh Viktor you haven’t heard of it! We must go! It’s truly dazzling,’ Chris’ eyes were as wide as a child in a sweet shop for the first time as he recalled act after act, ‘a bearded lady, and an Irish giant and the most spectacular trapeze ar- ‘. Viktor cut him off, fearing the Circus’s list of growing acts would never cease.

 

‘I’m not sure if a _circus,_ ’ he paused, searching for the right words, ‘is up to our calibre,’ Chris’ face began to sink, ‘think what my father would say if he saw me attending,’. Another lecture on the proper conduct of a Nikiforov was not something he anticipated.

 

It wasn’t long before he noticed the twinkle in Chris’ eye return. The gears turning in his head almost audible as he formulated a plan.

 

‘Think what he would say if he saw us attend together,’ his devilish grin returning once more before Viktor made the move to slap him lightly on his exposed arm.

 

***

 

 

Yuri’s performance and socialising afterwards went exactly as Viktor had expected, well _almost_ exactly. Christophe had insisted in coming, taking a seat next to Viktor. His father turned the most garish shade of purple when he saw them enter together, moving several rows forward to sit with old friends.

 

After the performance mothers, fathers and other assorted guests gathered in the grand hall to drink and discuss the success of their children. There was praise of course, for him in part. His last play had been an overwhelming success in London, and some congratulations were given. Many were held back however when rumour and gossip about what - _or who -_  else he’d been doing in London began to circulate the room. Yuri received most of the praise, apparently he was as good as both Chris and his father had mentioned. Viktor stipulated that his performance had at least been above average.

 

Viktor quickly grew tired of the people his father wanted to introduce him to, only giving into his insensate nagging in hopes it would make his father clear his debts sooner and he could return to Europe. The people were mostly wealthy fathers of beautiful daughters and old friends Viktor had no interest in sharing his time with. He turned on the charm any way though, one boring night would not tarnish his reputation as one of the most charismatic bachelors in Detroit.

 

That’s where he found himself now, being led to yet another young lady and her father.

 

‘Viktor, this is Count Tatarinov Fyodor Babicheva, I’m sure I’ve mentioned him at least once,’ he said, gesturing to a rather short man with tightly cropped red hair.

 

Beside him stood a woman, not much younger than Viktor, presumably his daughter from the resemblance. This was indeed not the first time he had heard of Fyodor. His father had regaled him with their stories back in the mother land many times, _many._

 

‘Fedya, this is my eldest, Prince Aleksandr Viktor Nikiforov,’ he gestured towards Viktor, putting him on display, showing him to be a suitable match. Viktor gave a small bow to both Fedya and the girl beside him. ‘Viktor, Fedya and I have recently gone into business,’ he clapped his old friend on the back, ‘welcome to America,’.

 

‘It is nice to finally meet the great Count Tatarinov Fyodor Babicheva, my father has told me many stories,’ Viktor said, bowing slightly. He spoke in Russian, the first time in a long time, it felt good as it rolled off his tongue.

 

‘Call me Fedya,’ he smiled, ‘please,’ he reached his hand forward for a firm shake, ‘and I hope not too many stories,’ Fedya laughed. The girl beside him stayed silent. Viktor looked at her but she quickly avoided eye contact, choosing instead to look at the floor. Fedya seemed to notice the exchanged, clearing his throat he began to speak. ‘Pardon my rudeness, Viktor this is my daughter, Countess Emilia Kashnikova Babicheva,’ he announced.

 

She held her hand forward slightly, well taught and aware of custom but too inexperienced to perform it with confidence.

 

‘A pleasure,’ she said quietly. Viktor reached for her outstretched hand, grazing her gloved knuckles with his lips, watching as a light blush spread across her cheeks.

 

‘The pleasure is mine, Emilia’ he turned on his wicked smile, the one that normally had Chris swooning at the knees.

 

Sensing what he believed to be some form of intimate moment or immediate connection, Fedya’s eyes began searching the room.

 

‘Yakov, is that Vitaly I see over there,’ he called out, pointing to the far end of the room, ‘god I haven’t see him in years,’

 

‘Perhaps we should speak to him,’ Yakov directed towards his friend, before turning harshly to Viktor, ‘I’m sure Viktor won’t mind taking care of Emilia while we’re gone,’ he almost spat through gritted teeth, almost begging him not to make a mockery of the Nikiforov name in front of an old friend’s daughter.

 

‘Of course father,’ Viktor said with a smile, seeing a similar one appear on Fedya’s face. Ignorance was bliss.

 

The pair of old Russians quickly made their way across the hall before an awkward silence started to settle between them.

 

‘So Countess, I know what brings you to Detroit, but what brings you here tonight,’ he attempts to ease the awkwardness, clearly noticing that Emilia had had very little experience in setups. Viktor however had had far too much.

 

‘Please call me Mila,’ she said quietly, following her fathers lead, ‘My sister was part of the performance,’ she said, slightly louder and more confident since her father had departed, ‘but I think the real reason I am here is so that I may _mingle_ with as many available gentlemen as possible,’. She had shine to her eye, a cheekiness, one that Chris would approve of.

 

‘I’m saddened to know I’m not the only man you’ll be seeing tonight,’ he replied, in mocked abashed-ness. He was, however a little taken aback, feeling slightly insulted that even though Fedya was ignorant of the rumour that surrounded Viktor he still considered others.

 

‘Oh you should be, there have been so many that I doubt I’ll even remember your name when I return home this evening,’ she giggled.

 

‘I’m sure my father won’t let me forget yours, not that I ever could anyway’ he smiled as he watched the blush creep up her neck, ‘if you could go anywhere in Detroit where would you have me take you?’ He flashed her another smile. Charming was what he was good at, that and play-writing. A few dates would make his father happy, it would make her father happy, it would get his accounts cleared and perhaps he could see some good theatre or eat some good food at the same time before returning to Europe.

 

‘Anywhere?’ she whispered.

 

‘Anywhere,’

 

‘If truth be told, the circus,’ she looked around, as if she had just committed treason by saying as such, ‘I hear it is truly magical,’

 

As if on queue, just as Viktor had remembered their conversation from that morning, a slightly drunk Chris sidled up to the pair, throwing an arm unceremoniously around Viktor’s shoulders.

 

As soon as his arm touched his shoulder Viktor froze for a second, his ears burning as his mind seemed to zone in to every conversation in the room other than the one he was part of.

 

_‘He’s always a little close to the Giacometti boy if you ask me,’_

 

_‘I mean did you hear where they found him in London?’_

 

‘Your father trying to set you up with another old friend’s daughter again Vitya,’ he cringed internally at the use of his diminutive, not even his father used it, ‘I like this one, she’s a _bit_ prettier than the last at least’. His voice interrupted Viktor’s eaves dropping. It redirected his attention to the conversation at hand, and Mila’s rapidly reddening face.

 

‘She speaks English Christophe,’ he daren’t even look at him. They had been speaking Russian but that was out of enjoyment and familiarity rather than necessity.

 

He could almost feel Chris’s eyes widen in embarrassment

 

‘My apologies Madame,’ he paused, ‘the last few haven’t,’. He chuckled to what he thought was himself, but his drunken laugh boomed a little louder than expected drawing the attention of several people around them.

 

Viktor winced once again.

 

Chris took the whole pretending to be interested in women a little less seriously than Viktor. He said it was because he was Swiss, Viktor suspected it had less to do with that and more to do with the lack of parents breathing down his neck.

 

‘Please do excuse him for his brashness Mila,’ he placed his hand lightly on Chris’s chest, resisting the urge to hit him, attempting to remain calm, to stop the attentive eyes that were now beginning to notice the threesome. ‘I blame the, what is it tonight, whisky?’ he cocked his head towards Chris.

 

‘You know me well Vitya,’ Chris’s arm slipped from Viktor’s shoulders to his waist indicating that they knew each other well, but Chris wanted to know him better.

 

_‘I’m surprised he doesn’t have a wife by now, he could have any woman he wanted,’_

_‘I don’t think it’s the women he’s after,’_

 

‘Countess, please meet my good friend Count Christophe Giacometti von Jori, he’s usually a lot more charming,’

 

‘I can still be charming,’ he reached forward, kissing her hand just as Viktor had, if a tad more sloppily. ‘Viktor, Madame’ he tilted his head towards her, ‘What were the pair of you discussing before I so rudely interrupted, please continue as if I had never arrived,’

 

It took her a moment to adjust to Chris’s brashness, which was far less than it took for some, but eventually she piped up.

 

‘Viktor and I were just discussing the Circus, I was telling him how truly dazzling I’ve heard it is,’

 

‘The circus!’ Chris almost shouted, ‘me and Vitya were just discussing this morning how much we’d both love to attend!’ he clapped his hands together in excitement.  

 

‘Christophe,’ he interjected, but it fell on deaf ears.

 

‘Perhaps we could call you company for the evening?’

 

‘Oh my father would never allow such a thing, the circus, no’, she shook her head, shying back into herself.

 

‘That’s why he doesn’t need to know’ Chris made a shoosing motion, pulling his finger to his mouth, stumbling forward enough that Viktor had to catch him. He was drunker than Viktor had thought.

 

Viktor had gotten caught up in the commotion of keeping Chris upright that he hadn’t noticed the approach of his father.

 

‘Count Giacometti,’ he almost spat out.

 

Chris turned quickly towards Viktor’s father, plastering a wickedly wide grin on his face. Viktor had to grab his waist a little tighter just to stop him slipping over earning a chocked gasp from his father.

 

‘Yakov! When was the last time we spoke?’ he started to barrel forward as if to embrace Yakov in hug. Viktor managed to pull him back from that even if he couldn’t stop him running his mouth.

 

The next morning Chris would blame this behaviour on alcohol, Viktor would know most of it was based on spite.

 

‘Viktor can I have a word please,’ he paused, ‘alone,’ he motioned to a short doorway on the far wall, racing off in embarrassment before Viktor had a chance to deign him with an answer.

 

‘Excuse me Mila, I must speak with my father,’ he took note of the slightly disappointed expression on her face, ‘I will send you a letter shortly however, perhaps I could enjoy your company properly at the theatre?’. She nodded in affirmation, a smile making its way to her face as he left.

 

Hopefully that would appease his father enough to ignore Chris’ actions.

 

***

 

The room his father led him too was surprisingly larger than the smallness of the doorway implied. It could easily be used as a second ballroom and probably was during professional performances.

 

As the door shut, the room became deathly quiet. Not even the sounds from gathering outside could penetrate it. The acoustics made Yakov’s every angered breath reverberate, becoming a suffocating swarm of disapproval.

 

His father didn’t face him, preferring instead to look at the far wall. _His father couldn’t even look at him anymore._ It didn’t feel like the triumph he’d thought it would be.

 

‘Father,’ he began, reaching forward to grasp his arm.

 

His father shook him off, snapping his head to look at his son, an air of disgust in his eye.

 

‘Stay away from that Gicometti boy Viktor,’ he said, half sneering. ‘We don’t need any more of this…’ he paused, searching for the right word. He couldn’t find it, instead gesturing to Viktor.

 

Viktor had always hated gossip, but if there was one thing he enjoyed about it was watching his father squirm. Tonight however, rather than a sense of enjoyment he felt a sense of uneasiness in his gut – butterflies flittering around in his stomach.

 

He felt his father’s gaze burning into him, judging him, disgusted by him. For once he couldn’t challenge that stare. It reminded him of everything he hated about Detroit. It was a much larger concentration of people who cared about the status of his family, confined to a much smaller space _with his father at the centre_.

 

He could normally match his fathers gaze, but there was an unparalleled raged that filled him tonight. It was deeper, more base and animalistic than his usual disapproval.

 

‘Look at me boy, you’re getting to old for this Viktor, will you never grow out of this childish perversion,’ Viktor did look at him, right in the eyes. He saw the rage, the disgust. He had never dragged him away from a party before, he had always made a private affair.  ‘I’ve allowed it Viktor, but you’ve pushed me too far. Letting him do that in public,’

 

_Hold my waist?_ _You act as though you’ve never held up a drunken friend before?_ Would be his usual reply, followed by a flash of his ever so charming smile. But as much as he tried he couldn’t get his mouth to form the words, to form the smile.

 

‘You’re an embarrassment, that girl in there is one of the last who doesn’t know what you are, you will court her, you will give into her every whim, her _every_ whim,’ Viktor gulped on the emphasis. ‘Do you understand boy, you will not even see that _Christopher Gicometti,_ you will not run away to Europe to ruin yourself there either, you will court Emilia until I am satisfied, is that clear,’

 

‘Yes father,’ he almost whispered.

 

‘Speak up!’

 

‘Yes father,’ he said, his voice cracking as he held back tears.  He felt like a beaten dog, _wounded._

 

As his father made he way towards the door he found himself rooted to the spot, thoughts rushing to his head. He would listen to his father, he would court the girl, and then as soon as his accounts were cleared he would leave Detroit.

 

He detached for a moment, falling back into himself. It was easier in Europe, easier around Chris, it felt normal. His father however, made him feel like and animal, _a monster._

 

With his back to the door and his head in dreams of another continent, Viktor hadn’t noticed Celestino’s entrance. Hadn’t noticed the door slowly creak open, and swing shut behind him.

 

‘Excuse me,’ it was an abrasive noise, overly confident for who he was speaking to.

 

Viktor wanted to snap at whoever had spoken, whoever had pulled him from a happier place. But not even anger would tarnish his reputation as a charmer.

 

‘How may I help you, sir,’ he turned with a flourish, flashing the biggest smile he could muster. _The tears were still prickling in his eyes._

 

Even through the haze of almost tears he recognised the man before him, how could he not. Posters of his face were on every wall in Detroit, and even without them Chris had shown him plenty of pictures of the _greatest showman._ Viktor was shocked to see him at such a prestigious event.

 

He was handsome of course, and on the surface he seemed well dressed and respectable.  But obviously he knew nothing of etiquette, from the way he held himself, to the way he addressed Viktor. Chris would be disappointed at the reality of his great showman.

 

‘A Countess Babicheva said I could find you in here, I don’t know whether you’ve heard of me, but I am C….’

 

‘Of course I have Mr Cialdini,’ Viktor cut him off, chuckling, ‘you’re show has been the talk of the town,’

 

‘So you’ve seen it then?’ He asked, a hopeful glimmer in his eye.

 

‘Oh god no,’ he shook his head, ‘I’m afraid that it’s not for people of my calibre, we talk in secret, but I could not find myself at one of your shows without becoming the talk of Detroit,’

 

‘You’re plays have already made you to the talk of Detroit Prince Aleksandr, people are already anticipating how you might wow them with words,’ Viktor smiled at the compliment, so that’s the game he was playing. Charm. He was tacky and overly saccharin, nothing in comparison to Viktor’s natural flow but he could play along.

 

‘Viktor please, not even my father calls me Aleksandr,’ he laughed. Anyone who knew Viktor would be able to tell how fake it was ’If I may be so brash, why have you sought me out amongst all these people?’ he questioned.

 

Celestino’s charm was a warning sign, he wanted something. Perhaps an invite to Viktor’s latest play?  That’s what people usually wanted.

 

‘I wanted to discuss my show, perhaps over a drink,’ he wasn’t asking. A sly smile spreading across his face.

 

‘Your show?’ Viktor’s eyebrows creased. It seemed that tonight he had pissed off some higher power, one intent on dragging him lower and lower. First Chris, then his father, and now this circus, again and again.

 

‘Yes,’

 

‘I hardly think that is appropriate Mr Cialdini,’ he smiled, starting towards the door. He needed to leave, quickly, feeling himself begging to crack.

 

All he had wanted to do was attend his brother’s recital and clear his accounts. Instead he had further ruined his relationship with his father, and not only was he being followed by debauched rumours of his own making, but a debauched show was now beginning to stalk him.

 

‘Please, I am sure I could change your….’ He cut Celestino off, snapping his head from the exit back to the showman.

 

‘No thank you Mr Cialdini, now is not a good time,’ he tried to say politely, to regain his composure, but his anger could not be mistaken, his voice cracking as an underlying sadness begged to break free.

 

‘But sir,’ he said, reaching for Viktor’s arm.

 

He pulled it back before Celestino could get his hands on his new suit, before he could drag him into his world.  

 

‘Now is not a good time,’ he snapped, he had never snapped in public, not since he was a child.

 

Viktor looked at Celestino with poison in his eyes, the role he had been playing finally wavering as he stalked back to the main hall.

 

He took a second at the door to compose himself before returning. Most of the guests had left since his departure. Mila was nowhere to be found, and a drunk Chris was being scooped of the floor by the venue’s staff.  His father had left too; no doubt it was past Yuri’s bedtime.

 

Viktor retrieved his coat from the cloak room, before leaving the ballet hall and hailing a cab in the drizzly streets outside.

 

 

***

 

Viktor had thought he would forget his father’s outburst within a few days. _He was wrong._ For the next week every night he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his father’s words echoing in his head. _It was different this time_. He was breaking. Had Viktor finally pushed him to far?

 

All he wanted to do was leave, to pack up and run away to Europe like he always did, to bury himself in vodka and parties and men until his father’s words didn’t affect him anymore. But he couldn’t this time, his father had made that very clear.

 

He had received various letters from Chris, they had remained unopened on his desk. Each morning as he worked on his latest manuscript he would reach for them, the pile growing daily, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually open them. Whenever he held them all he could think of was his father.

 

As promised he had kept in contact with Mila. It helped, while normally he yearned for Chris’ comfort while in Detroit, yearned for an escape from his family. Mila made it bearable, made him less lonely.

 

While initially she brought up the Circus, that was quickly dismissed as being far to beneath them. Instead Viktor had pulled some strings with a theatre whose manager he knew well, _very well_. The tickets were last minute, but he was assured they would be magnificent.

 

As Viktor left for the evening with Mila, he had finally made up his mind about what he would do.  He would ‘lie low’ so to speak. He would avoid the parties he usually attended while in Detroit and the people who attended them, he would work on his manuscript and he would court the girl. When he returned to his rooms that evening, he would tear up Chris’ letters and when in Europe once again after this whole affair was over he would send him the biggest apology imaginable, with several bouquets of flowers attached.

 

He breathed deeply, repeating his plan again and again as he waited for Mila outside the theatre. He had offered to meet her at her father’s estate but she insisted that she was already in town visiting friends and would meet him there.

 

His evening with Mila was better than he thought it would be. Their meeting had been seamless, she arriving not long after Viktor’s cab had pulled up outside. The box the manager had provided them with was lavish perfect view of the stage – even if it had come with a sly wink and a hug that lasted a little too long from the manager.

 

He had seen the play before in St Petersburg, and hoped Mila would enjoy it. A forbidden love story set in the Tsar’s court. It had been a hit in Russia, he thought she may appreciate something to remind her of home. She tried to hide it but Viktor had seen her sniffling towards the end, whether that be the tragic demise of the lovers or home sickness.

As the play ended they collected their things and made their way towards the exit.

 

Only a few whispers accompanied them on their way out.

 

_It won’t last long._

_He only took the last 3 girls on two dates._

_Poor girl._

 

Mila seemed to ignore it, but as they stood outside Viktor noticed an awkward silence had fallen over them. Viktor didn’t _do_ awkward silences.

 

‘Did you enjoy the play Emilia?’ he asked, his every so charming smile spreading across his face.

 

‘Very much so,’ she answered, ‘perhaps one day you will take me to one of your plays,’ she asked hopefully.

 

_One day._

 

‘I’m glad, and Countess you will be the first on the list when the next of mine opens its doors, if I can tear myself away from you long enough to finish writing it of course,’ she blushed, turning her head slightly so Viktor couldn’t see.

 

They continued walking, Viktor wasn’t really sure where to. Mila was easy to talk to, easy to lose himself in the fantasy that he could marry someone and not be completely miserable.

 

‘It was nicer without your friend here this evening,’ Mila noted, pulling her shall close in the cold evening. Viktor shrugged his coat off and draped it over her shoulders. An action that was met with a warm smile.

 

The cold bit through his thin suit jacket but making the girls his father sent him happy was only a minor inconvenience compared to the rather large one being cut off entirely would present. An event that would surely happen if her were to ignore his fathers wishes once again.

 

‘Christophe can be charming when he wants to be,’ allowing Mila to loop her arm through his as they talked, ‘I think he’s just so fed up with forced meetings that he’s given up trying to pretend he enjoys them,’ Mila turned to look at the ground, a small sadness showing on her face. They after all had been a ‘forced meeting’. Viktor immediately regretted his words.

 

‘Your father doesn’t seem to like him either,’ she replied.

 

Her words were putting lightly. Yakov had never _liked_ Chris, even before the rumours had started circulating. He was a bad influence apparently, without the strong guiding hands of his parents he had been left to run wild without manner or social restraint. He only started to _hate_ him when rumour broke they were sharing a room as more than friends at boarding school.  

 

‘My father likes very few people,’ he laughed, wanting desperately to turn the conversation away from Chris. In part his desperation came from the pain he had while thinking of Chris at the moment, the pile of unopened letters sitting on his desk, the letters he knew he would have to tear up when he returned. But also, the closer they spoke of Chris, the closer they got to the rumours around him.

 

‘I hear what people say about him, I’m sure you know,’ she looked at him with wide innocent eyes.

 

_‘What they say about me as well’_ he wanted to ask her. _Perhaps she’d missed that gossip, perhaps she chosen to remain ignorant._ He thought to himself.

‘They call any bachelor who isn’t married nor shows any interested in being so queer these days,’ he laughed it off, ‘He’ll finally settle down when there’s a woman who can keep up with him,’

 

‘You speak very fondly of him,’ her smile was warm, but there was a faint glitter of envy in her eyes.

 

‘He has been a good friend over the years,’ he replied.

 

He _had_ been a good friend. He may play the fool but he had been there for Viktor in a way his family hadn’t. He had been the first one Viktor turned to after his mother died, the person who held him as a sobbed about the demise of his dancing career. And while he may have bashed heads with Yakov, he was the first person to stand up for Viktor in his life.

 

  _And now I ignore him because of my father. What kind of friend am I?_

 

‘Perhaps I can meet him one day when he isn’t so drunk he starts vomiting on the floor’ she giggled into her hands, as if to cover up the lack of social etiquette in what she was saying.

 

Viktor sighed, _of course._ That sounded like something Chris would do. Viktor had unfortunately seen the contents of Chris’ stomach far too many times for one lifetime already.

 

‘I think you’ll find him far more charming,’ he promised, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly. His father certainly wouldn’t approve.

 

‘Perhaps we could all attend the circus together,’ she proposed, a cheeky smile forming on her face.

 

‘I think that would be a great idea,’ it was a phantom voice, coming from the darkness in between street lights.

 

The owner edged forward until he stood in the lights full beam. The pony tail and cheap suit gave him away instantly.

 

‘Mr Cialdini,’ Viktor hissed. Could he not shake this man off, could he not rid himself of this circus.

 

‘C.Cialdini countess,’ he said with a small bow and flourish of his top hat that was so indicative of a showman, ‘we met briefly at the ballet,’ she nodded, smiling in recognition.

 

‘So you found him them! I’m glad, I wasn’t sure where you’d run off to Viktor when he approached me, I was so terrified I’d sent him in the wrong direction,’ she beamed, a sense of relief washing over her.

 

Viktor refrained from rolling his eyes, wishing she had sent him in the wrong direction.

 

‘Me and Viktor had a wonderful discussion, didn’t we,’ _Viktor and I,_ Viktor bit his lip as he longed to correct him, ‘I was wondering if you perhaps wanted to talk over that drink?’ he had turned to Viktor, before turning back to Mila, ‘Perhaps we could arrange a special visit for the pair of you?’

 

‘I’m sorry Mr Cialdini my answer is still the same, now I must escort Countess Babacheva home,’ he said, placing his arm on Mila’s elbow.

 

‘Oh do go Viktor, don’t let me stop you, I can get a cab myself,’ she said with a childish delight as she clapped her hands together.

 

‘Are you sure your father won’t mind,’ he looked at her, begging her to say that he would, begging her to hear the desperation in her tone.

 

She either over looked his subtle pleading or chose to ignore it.

 

‘My father doesn’t need to know,’ she whispered, a smile spreading across her face. It was at the moment he realised how much he had misjudged her, she new exactly what she was doing.

 

 She and Chris would get along very well.

 

‘Excellent,’ Celestino clapped him on the back, almost winding him and began leading him away from the theatre.

 

He turned to look back at Mila who was waving him goodbye as she returned to the theatre to call a cab. He saw several men stare and her as she walked, her hair made her stand out from the rest, and she was definitely beautiful. He felt a pang of a guilt for a second; _she could be happy with one of those men._

 

He followed Celestino along several roads and alleyways Viktor had never been down. In truth he’d never been this deep on the other side of the city, it was full of vagrants and prostitutes and a foul smell Viktor couldn’t quite place. He hoped the smell wouldn’t stick. His suit had been expensive and he didn’t have the funds to replace it at the present.

 

 As they walked he noticed the night growing even colder, a small flutter of snow beginning to fall. _He regretted giving his coat to Mila._ On the Brightside it would escape the smell.

 

The bar that Celestino led Viktor was relatively empty, the last few people filtering out as the pair entered. The bartender was wiping down the bar, closing for the night. He sighed a little as Celestino ordered them both a whiskey, slinging the cleaning cloth over his shoulder with a moan about how he could never close early.

 

The bar was _vibrant_ – if Viktor were to be kind. It definitely wasn’t the lavish clubs that he was accustomed to. He was used to walls inlaid with gold, live music and good conversation, not surfaces that were sticky to the touch and peeling wallpaper.

 

The bartender handed them their drinks, Viktor watched as Celestino threw his back. Viktor did the same, wincing at the whiskey. _Cheap._ He didn’t like the drink on the best of days, vodka was what he’d been raised on.

 

‘So Mr Cialdini, why have you cornered me once again?’ Viktor asked with an exasperated sigh, placing his glass back on the table. The bartender motioned to pour him another but Viktor shook his head.

 

‘I’ll be blunt, the carriage trade, I want to go after the snobs,’ he said, slamming his glass back on the table, taking a handful of peanuts from a dish on the bar.

 

‘I’ve told you before and I will tell you again, the circus, it’s just not up to our calibre,’ Viktor felt like a broken record, what would it take for him to understand

 

‘And why is that?’ he questioned, waggling his eyebrows. He was putting on less fake charm this evening, somehow it made him more likeable, if a little endearing.

 

‘Mud, dirt, straw, _freaks_. It’s not exactly civilised entertainment,’ Viktor laughed, ‘do you understand that just associating with you could cost me my inheritance?’ _If he hadn’t lost it already after last night debacle._

 

‘And yet it has captivated most of the city, I’ve captivated most of the city,’ he was right. Everywhere you went there were people talking about the circus. Viktor had seen the crowds that formed outside everyday, longing to get in. But they were all _another sort._  ‘I heard the conversations at the recital, people sneering and scoffing at the thought of attending, yet I heard the wonder in their voices, the want to see it if only society would allow it,’

 

Viktor looked at him trying to formulate something to say. It was true, the circus had been the talk of the night. Everyone had been whispering about it, bearded women and trapeze artists. But if everyone was so enamoured then…

 

‘Why are you talking to me about this?’ _If everyone wanted to go so badly, why was he trying to convince Viktor._

 

He may have been charming and a bachelor and Prince of Russia, but they were a dime a dozen in Detroit at the moment.

 

‘I’ve seen your plays, my wife is quite fond of them,’ Celestino answered. Did this man never give one straight answer. Everything with him seemed to be a spectacle.

 

‘and what does that have to do with this Mr Cialdini?’ he deadpanned, growing incredibly tired of the rings and hopes he had jump through to talk to this man.

 

‘Come join the circus, you clearly have a flair for show business, teach me how to appeal to the highbrows,’ he said grabbing another handful of peanuts from the bar, crunching them between his teeth shells still intact.

 

‘You want me to convince the nobility, the aristocracy to attend your circus,’ Viktor snorted.

 

Even if he wanted to do it, he wasn’t sure he could. He may have been on of the most charming bachelors in Detroit, but the scandal that followed him wasn’t easy to ignore. Something like that sticks to a person, to their name and to what they put their name on.

 

‘You’re an amazing writer, with amazing connections, connections that can open up doors and writing that can get people to walk through them,’

 

He’d enough of this. He wanted no part in this circus business. He wanted to leave the city as soon as possible, even if wanted to, getting tangled up with some charlatan would only be a detriment to his case. Viktor reached for his scarf, beginning to push himself from his bar stool.

 

‘If that’s all you have to ask me, then the answer is no,’ he began making his way towards the door.

 

‘You, your kind, you’re all trapped,’ Celestino said, a bitterness in his voice, _a disappointment._ Viktor paused, looking back at him. ‘I could show you a whole other way of living, the circus could be your key, something interesting enough to make you stay in a city for more than a few months,’

 

Viktor should have left then, he could have left and returned to the life he was comfortable with. But something stopped him. He didn’t find Detroit uninteresting, his father was the reason he refused to stay, _right?_ He wasn’t trapped, _was he?_ What could he even be trapped by.

 

‘I can assure you Mr Cialdini I don’t need a key, I rather enjoy the life you think I’m trapped in, it’s a fun part to play,’ he smiled, ‘it doesn’t smell of vomit where I come from, and the whiskey is _far_ better,’

 

‘But all you’re doing is playing,’ Celestino said, his voice low. Viktor had said it himself.

 

_What had he meant by that?_

 

‘I thank you for taking the time to seek me out, and I admire you Mr Cialdini, this whole show you’ve got going, you’ve really made something from yourself, and you should be content that this as far as you’ll get’ he walked closer the showman, gripping his shoulder condescendingly, but adjusting his scarf, readying himself to leave once more.

 

But he didn’t leave, not yet.

 

‘So you’d rather spend the rest of your life doing what? Drinking vodka, attending parties stuck with women you don’t love, spending the rest of your life in misery?’

 

‘If I got involved with you and your circus Celestino then I would be the talk of the town, I’d be disgraced, my father would disown me,’

 

‘Aren’t you already? and from what I heard, he came close to that last week, Viktor’s face fell, ‘and with the apparent state of your finances I’d wager you could use every penny you could get your hands on, I’d pay well of course,’ he smiled.

 

_Rumour, gossip_. It was everywhere. But no one had ever confronted him about it before, it was all quiet whispers behind backs, nothing direct. Part of Viktor found it refreshing, the other was enraged. He had amused Celestino up until now, playing the charming bachelor like he always did. _Playing_.

 

‘You join me and you can have your own money, it won’t matter what people say about you, what your father thinks of you,’ he didn’t smile anymore, his face was sincere, almost as though he cared for Viktor. Almost like he actually wanted to help him.

 

‘My finances are none of your business sir, my father is none of your business, you ask me to speak to me, you ask me to _join the circus_ and now you insult me, I have had enough of this foolish business,’ he turned his back to Celestino, making his way to the exit for a final time. He didn’t need him, and his money and his _work._ Viktor had never worked for anyone, and he did not intend to start with a _showman_.

 

‘You can love whoever you want,’ Celestino called out. Viktor stopped, deading his tracks, his hand resting on the door handle yet unable to pull it. _What had he just said?_ ‘No one will care at the circus, you could be happy,’ Viktor gulped, pulling the door open.

 

‘There will be a box every night for the next week,’ he called as Viktor left the bar, ‘for you and however you choose to bring with you,’

 

Viktor heard the door shut behind him, the biting cold bringing him to the present. He wanted to sink to the floor. How dare he. Viktor felt a blind rage in him. But it made him think. _Whoever he wanted_. He could already have whoever he wanted. He already had whatever he wanted. And he was happy. He had friends, he had parties, he could _go_ wherever he wanted – _that was happiness right?_

_***_

 

Viktor returned to his apartment, stumbling through the entrance as the nights drinking finally caught up with him. The doorman was kind enough to remained silent. He fumbled his way into the elevator and then to his front door.

 

Another letter sat neatly on the desk, _Vitya_ written neatly in Chris’s cursive script.

 

_You can love whoever you want._

 

He reached forward and ripped the letter open. It was short but straight to the point.

_Vitya,_

_I understand why I am yet to hear from you, I apologise for my behaviour and beg your forgiveness._

_I am worried about you; it is out of character for you not to reply, even when you are angry. All I want to know is that you are okay, it is alright if you never forgive me, but please answer just one these._

_One last note, as your friend, ignore your father. You will find a way in the world without him, you will be happier when you rid yourself of that monster._

_Chris_

 

_Happy_. He felt the tears sting his eyes as guilt rushed through him. He was happy, why could no one else see that.

 

He read the letter once again. This wasn’t Chris’ fault, he may have been a catalyst but Viktor didn’t want to make him worry like this.

 

_Christophe,_

_I had no intention of making you worry; my father has been more abrasive than his usual self and I fear it may have frightened me. I am truly sorry; I know I promised to never let him break our friendship._

_While I would normally ask how I could make it up to you, I have something in mind that I think you’ll enjoy._

_Vitya_

_***_

 

When Celestino had said box, Viktor had had slightly higher expectations. Perhaps something more akin to the box he had sat in the other night at the theatre with Mila rather than a sectioned of piece of balcony. Chris however was delighted, almost radiating excitement.

 

It was Thursday, only a few nights after his conversation with Celestino. Chris had responded almost immediately to his letter, demanding to know what Viktor was talking about, curiosity getting the better of him. He had been talking incessantly about the evening since, regaling him over and over again, with the acts. He hoped there would be new ones, and that the ones had seen would be just as good.  While normally Viktor would ignore him, he put up with it, still trying to earn his forgiveness. Part of him enjoyed it, having his friend back, even if they had only been parted for a few days.

 

There was a catch however, one that Chris had initially not been the happiest about.

 

‘I told my father that I was attending another play with you, I hope that no one sees me here!’ Mila giggled next to him. 

 

Viktor had to pretend he hadn’t told his father the same lie.

 

While they had taken the upmost caution to not be seen attending the circus. Viktor had insisted it was just in case anyone _did_ see them. He didn’t need another rumour spreading across the city. He also reminded Chris that his father would be more likely to clear his debts if he was escorting Mila – even if neither of their fathers knew where exactly she was being escorted to.

 

Chris had reluctantly accepted Viktor’s condition, eventually even giving in to Viktor’s pleas to bring a girl of his own. A promise to return to Chris’s apartment together after the show had definitely helped.

 

Marchesa Sara Crispino di Val Cismon sat next to him. She was an old family friend of Chris’. Viktor liked her, liked that small slaps she gave Chris’ hand whenever he made a mock advance or display of flirtation. Viktor was thankful that Chris had brought someone who would keep him in check rather than indulge him like he so often did.

 

Mila had initially been reserved around Sara, but when they began talking they didn’t stop until the show began. Mila telling Sara her dreams of travelling around Europe, having only left Russia for the first time on their voyage to America. Sara noted that she had picked the right man in Viktor then, with his constant jet setting. Viktor tensed up at being dragged into their conversation, but was quickly forgotten when Sara began insisting that they visit Italy together in the summer.

 

After the pair got talking Chris turned to Viktor, expressing his anticipation, along with a few suggestive glances about what they were planning to do after the show.

 

They were interrupted however when the lights in the circus dimmed, a spotlight coming to life, illuminating Celestino in the centre of the ring. Viktor had already seen hits of the showman in him. But now, he could see why Chris was enamoured with the man. The entire crowd waited on him to begin the show with baited breath, hanging on his ever word, his every movement, Viktor included.

 

The circus was indeed as dazzling as Chris had promised him, with his help he supposed that yes, he could open the doors to a different sort of cliental. Viktor was already making lists, lists of relatives and friends and acquaintances he would need to pull into this, already drafting letters that he would write as soon as he returned to his rooms uptown.

 

But all of that was forgotten. His father was forgotten. His gaze was drawn from his unwritten letters and imaginary lists by an angel falling from the stars.

 

How he had been too in his head to miss the beginning of the act he would never know and always regret. But he couldn’t miss this. Time seem to slow as he leant forward on the balcony, almost rising from his seat. Chris had told him briefly about the trapeze artists, about their grace, but Viktor could hardly believe what hung before him.

 

_The most beautiful man he had ever seen._

 

A single arm out stretched, begging him to come closer. His slicked backed hair and glossed lips calling to Viktor to ruin them both, one with his hands and the other in an entirely more debauched way.

 

Viktor was Breathless as he hung mere inches from him, Viktor arms began to reach forward towards the trapeze artist, to pull him closer. He could almost feel the exhale of the performers breathe surround he as he prepared for the tug of the trapeze to pull him back.

 

Viktor could keep eyes only on him. Gasping with the crowd as he flipped through the sky, wowing the audience.

 

_Who was he?_

 

It wasn’t until he left the circus, still mesmerized, that he learned the name of his name. It was plastered on the outside of the building. _The greatest trapeze Yuuri and Pitchit_. The names displayed proudly above each respective artist.

 

Yuuri.

 

 He would be seeing Yuuri again.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh thank you for reading
> 
> please feel free to write a comment (I always get super scared writing comments on fan fic bc anxiety but that might just be me) 
> 
> (I'm also not a huuuuge Chris/Viktor shipper but I lowkey wanna write about them growing up in boarding school together so if anyone wants that hit me up!) 
> 
> (also another note, I really like long Russian names and other fancy titles but if they get confusing pls let me know!) 
> 
> The next chapter will be available soon!


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